


a jar of light

by talonyth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, daichi is dense, i don't know what I am doing, kuroo is a blushing mess, my tags didn't even rhyme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/pseuds/talonyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi loves his job as host for a late night radio show - especially when a certain person calls him, every night without fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a jar of light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boxofwonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/gifts).



> this was so relaxing to write at 3am in the morning that i was on the verge of falling asleep because i felt so comfortable writing it. i hope you can enjoy this as well!

Beyond tired, Daichi rubs his neck and places his forehead on his desk. It’s been two years ever since he first started out as a host for the local station of his town until he moved to Tokyo to work for one of the biggest radio stations a month ago. When he accepted the job, he couldn’t believe his luck - until he found out he had to do a late night broadcast. Not a big problem in itself if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t work quite as well in the night as he does during daytime. 

Well, it has gotten slightly better but he still feels sluggish more often than not.. It’s in times like these that he misses his friends, his family back at home. There are boxes still neatly unpacked back in his flat, still full of his belongings as if he would leave Tokyo every second to return back to his hometown. He doesn’t plan to, not simply because he has one of these moods again. 

This job is worth the hassle, worth the weird callers he gets sometimes, worth the sleepless nights too. The big plus of a late night show is that there is barely any pressure to be extremely entertaining or hyper as those from the morning shows need to be. 

All he has to do - and that he can do very well - is talk about whatever his heart desires, whatever seems important to him, strike one or two topics he’s been told to and put on some music. It’s fun, in its own way, satisfying in another. 

He takes a deep breath and slides the headphones on his head, straightening his back into his seat with a smile. There is no one to see him but he can’t afford to sound like he is half asleep. Calm, that is another thing entirely. People who are awake in the period from midnight to 4am usually need this sort of person. And while Daichi never considered himself to be the epitome of calm, he does know he is a good listener with a soothing voice, if needed. And sometimes that is all these people need, he learnt. 

Some call because they’ve come home from work in the darkest depths of the night but of course, none of their friends are still awake to talk. Some do because they are lonely and can’t sleep because of it. There are a few select ones who call after a wild night completed by a beer bong and idiotic games of dare. Some just want to hear a specific song or call to greet someone whom they know.

Daichi has gotten to know so many even if he knows none of them in person and he feels the fatigue leave by imagining that for a second, for those moments he talks to them, they are genuinely happy. It could just be a single person listening and for them, Daichi would still stay awake and do his job. There is a satisfaction in being someone to lean on he cannot explain. There is nothing he loves more than the feeling of being relied on. A reflex in him to be a pillar of support to those who can’t support themselves. Even if it is just by an insignificant radio show at night. 

He sees a light on his screen flashing to alert him of the fact that he will be on air in a matter of seconds so he clears his throat and as soon as the small bulb glows in a constant shade of green, he sets all his thoughts aside and opens his mouth. 

Speaking is never quite as satisfying as in the night where no one listens in particular - but everyone who does appreciates. 

2 hours later, at about 2am, Daichi fidgets in his seat already, imperceptible to anyone aside from him. There is one particular person calling around the same time every night ever since he has started working. He, of course, also made it to Daichi’s list of people he thinks of regarding his job. And yet, he is so very different for the simple reason that Daichi can’t tell what reason he would have to call. 

Kuroo, the caller’s name as he introduced himself the first time he got through, doesn’t seem like a very lonely person altogether. He has told him (and consequently the part of Tokyo that was awake at 2am in the morning) the most ridiculous stories: challenges with a certain friend of his who could make the most disgusting pancakes (and the one time they added Nutella to the dough and it was _heavenly_ ), another friend of his who would keep him awake all night to clear a level in this new video game Kuroo struggled to pronounce the name of and then probably also another one who gets very passionate about books - so passionate that they would argue all night long over plot twists and it would end in his friend holding a baseball bat to his face (‘just one of those inflatables, the pink ones’, Kuroo said). Mostly though, there are stories about the first certain friend and their adventures of almost getting into hospital but never ending up there (aside from once where they accidentally broke the window of a hospital, a wild story Daichi doesn’t recall the details of, maybe for the better). 

He can’t say he isn’t intrigued. More than that, Daichi is curious to find out, almost looking forward to the span of ten minutes before 2am in which Kuroo calls. His voice is one of a kind as well. Rough in a way that makes goosebumps run down Daichi’s neck, his spine down to his toes yet with a hint of glee that is both pleasant and irritating. He isn’t sure whether he would like to punch Kuroo in the face if he were to ever see him or sit still and listen to him speak - perhaps he would like to do both to some extent and it’s mildly worrying. Only mildly in comparison to how troubling it is he cannot decipher Kuroo’s intentions at all. 

It’s odd how much Daichi can tell by a person’s voice, by the way they speak and articulate themselves though not solely due to his work. His ears have always been so much more perceptive than his eyes have been and while he trained his senses to work the same, his ears have never once let him down. 

Despite that, Kuroo he is a single mystery. There are times his voice wavers, times where he keeps quiet when he shouldn’t, where he talks when he should be quiet, times he clears his throat as if to suggest something but Daichi is deaf to what Kuroo means to tell him. Not willingly, no. For another reason entirely, one Daichi doesn’t understand. Is it his own fault? Or is it Kuroo, concealing his voice like a magician hiding cards up his sleeves?

There is a signal for an incoming call and Daichi’s eyes dart to the digital clock hanging off the wall in the small broadcasting room. 2 past 2am. He presses the button and the corners of his lips curl. 

“Here is another caller. Good evening there. Do you enjoy the rainy weather outside?”

No reply. For a second, Daichi is sure that the call must have been dropped until he hears hints of someone breathing along shallowly with the pattering of the rain. 

“Should you be outside, then you hopefully carry an umbrella with you. You might catch a cold otherwise,” Daichi says, trying to formulate it as generally as possible. This happens sometimes. Callers who don’t muster up the courage to speak once they’ve gotten through. Though Daichi knows that the person at the other end of the line is none of those who don’t dare say anything at all. By intuition, Daichi can tell this is Kuroo who is calling. Certainly not because he wished for him to have done so.

“Cat got your tongue? Don’t be scared, whatever you meant to say or request, I am here to listen so go right ahead,” Daichi murmurs in a tone unknown even to him. The rain sounds like static sound through the speakers of the phone, taking up all the space Kuroo’s voice should take. Daichi starts feeling the unease welling up within him but he tries not to let it shine through. He opens his mouth, steadying his posture, his voice but then, he hears the other person speak up. 

“Say, have you ever seen fireflies?”

It _is_ Kuroo. Daichi suppresses a sigh of relief, mostly because the person at the other end of the line didn’t end up to be in some sort of precarious situation where they couldn’t talk but partially also because his hunch about it being Kuroo ended up being right. “Oh, that’s quite a question,” he retorts, followed by a snicker. “Considering I am from the countryside originally, I sure have. This is what took you so long? You got me worried there.”

There is a chuckle, though wry, surprisingly but Kuroo seems to avoid explanations for why he kept quiet earlier. Daichi figures it might have been an act to seem mysterious. He wouldn’t put it past Kuroo as he has gotten to know him so far. “Do you know why they light up?”

Daichi ponders for a second, scratching his chin. “For mating purposes, as far as I know. I’m no biologist but I think the males emit a light to attract female fireflies in summer during their mating season. If you expected a more mythological view on this… well, they used to say fireflies represent the souls of fallen warriors. Especially older folks still believe that. Who knows, maybe it is true?”

“I caught an entire jar of them, Sawamura.”

Daichi’s breath gets caught up in his throat and in the silence his lack of air leaves behind he hears his heart pounding much louder than it should. It shakes him with an unreasonable fear that it might be heard. Unless he doesn’t let his voice waver, no one will be able to tell. Kuroo’s words shouldn’t faze him as much as they do. So he caught a jar of fireflies. Nothing to it. Probably. Lots of children did that, didn’t they? “When you were younger? I used to---”

“No, right now.” 

“Right now? But it’s raining outside.”

“An entire jar!” Kuroo says, ignoring Daichi’s worries entirely. “It took me 5 hours to get these many.”

He suddenly sounds excited like a child wanting to be praised. It’s almost endearing if Daichi weren’t aware this is a grown-ass man he is speaking to. “I’m certain the people who listen right now would be interested in hearing your explanation why you did this?” He can’t believe how eloquently he formulated that question. Maybe a little too eloquent for the fact that _he_ is the one who wants to know what Kuroo is doing. Mainly, at least. 

“You’ll see. You ever caught fireflies?”

Daichi hums, “Yes. In summer when I was younger, my friends and I would make a contest out of it. At the end of the day we always released them though. I do hope you poked some holes into the lid of the jar.”

“Of course, I’m not a barbarian. Plus, they are safe of the rain in there, so it’s a win-win situation for them and for me.” He sounds upbeat and Daichi thinks he might have imagined it earlier, that slight sliver of bitterness. What can you tell from someone breathing into a speaker anyway? “Oh, I gotta run. I’ll speak to you later.” The call is dropped and Daichi is left wondering what it was about. Kuroo’s calls are usually messy but not quite as much as this one. 

For the next two hours, the line is fairly quiet, leaving Daichi alone with his thoughts. He would have prefered the distraction of odd callers but no such luck for that night. No one drunk, no furious old lady awoken by her neighbours and complaining loudly, the only caller he got after Kuroo was someone who seemed to still be awake reading, and Daichi found himself with a rather long list of interesting recommendations he received by the end of the call. 

As he walks down the stairs, pushes against the big glass door of the station building, he stretches his arms and keeps wondering about Kuroo and the fireflies. For decoration? Perhaps as a present? They are pretty though they should be left out eventually after a few hours. His inner country kid screams - and then he realizes that there aren’t many places in Tokyo fireflies could live at anyway. So where did Kuroo even get them? 

The rain has let off, the air is fresh and clean as Daichi takes a deep breath. Is Kuroo that whimsical a person? To go outside, regardless of the weather, regardless of the time and hunt fireflies? Out of the blue? 

“Ah.”

Daichi turns around, shaken by the motion of someone beside him standing up from one of the benches in front of the building. He looks into an unfamiliar face staring at him, and is unable to read that person’s expression. Probably because of his distractingly weird hairstyle at first yet then it is the lighting that throws a green glow on the person’s face that catches Daichi’s attention - a glow emitted by a jar in his hands, filled with small fireflies. His hands are clasped around it as if his life depended on that small vitreous container and it dawns on Daichi who this might be. Who this _has_ to be. 

“Kuroo...?”

The other’s face lights up at the sound of his name, a smile so sheepish that it would seem laughable on a man like him. It would if it weren’t as tender as it was sheepish. “You sound a lot better in person than on the phone.”

Daichi bites down the _So do you_ sitting in his throat and laughs. “Is that so? This is the first time someone has told me this. If it helps, you look pretty much like you sound.”

Although he was sure Kuroo would reply something exceptionally clever, he stays quiet and turns his head away shyly. That, then again, is very different than he expected. “I’m not sure if this is a compliment or not,” Kuroo admits, his voice much quieter than Daichi has ever heard it before. 

“Hm.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, pretending to think about his reply. He could be honest and tell Kuroo that there isn’t a voice in the world that has ever imprinted itself so much in Daichi’s memory for it to constantly linger there (despite the terrible stories Kuroo tells) but he decides to not give him that sort of satisfaction. “However you want to take that….Actually,” Daichi says and realizes this should have been his first reaction, “What are you doing here?”

“Show you this,” and then Kuroo takes a big step closer to Daichi and shoves the small jar into his hands. It is warm, probably because Kuroo kept holding onto it. For how long? Why? Daichi exhales quietly and chuckles.

“You… that was 2 hours ago.”

“Sorry, it takes a while to get back to Tokyo from the countryside. But they are pretty, right?”

In the light of a hundred small fireflies contained in the small jar, Kuroo’s features look soft and his words are, for once Daichi can tell only by seeing his face and hearing his voice combined, more than just earnest. “You honestly went outside to get them. Must be pretty serious, then, huh? They don’t make for good pets though.”

“They aren’t supposed to be,” Kuroo says and his eyes are cast on the jar rather than reciprocate Daichi’s glance. “You… said you missed home, right? You sort of kept saying or mentioning that in your show. Like when no one called and you just rambled ahead. You also always go nostalgic on everyone.”

Did he say it that often? Regardless though, it’s impossible that Kuroo would have gone to those lengths for that. They don’t even properly know each other. Not really, at least. He watches the fireflies dance, twirl, settle down on the ground and flying up again. “They are beautiful though, I agree.”

Kuroo breathes in sharply and for a second Daichi thinks, he is about to laugh just to find him covering his face as he starts muttering incomprehensible syllables. He tries making out what Kuroo is trying to say but as he doesn’t manage, he furrows his eyebrows, a smile still spreading on his lips. “I was thinking about how I’d miss watching the fireflies this year since I moved away from home so… it makes me happy that I do get to see them after all. Thanks.”

“You said this before,” Kuroo mumbles, hands rubbing over his face in an attempt to, well, whatever he is trying. Relax his face, maybe? They slide down and he starts gesticulating along with his words. Daichi wouldn’t say wildly but he does have to take care of the jar. “That’s why I… it’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, I just--- I thought I could, you know, like I could maybe? Do something to make you feel less alone? You always listen to all the garbage people tell you and talk to them regardless but like, you get nothing back, right?” His hands wander back to his face. “Aw shit, I--- oh god, damn, Yaku was right, this is totally weirding you out, right? I couldn’t think of anything else when you mentioned that and then I set my mind on it and once I do that sort of thing, I don’t back off, you know? A true samurai soul, yeah?”

Daichi snorts and clutches onto the jar, fearing he could drop it. “ _‘A true samurai soul’_? Wow. Amazing. That’s cheesy.”

“Don’t even look at me right now.”

“This is a terrible present if you don’t want me to look at you,” Daichi says, lifting the jar up to see Kuroo’s head twist away from him further, palms still hindering Daichi from seeing. 

Kuroo mutters something into his hands again and Daichi can only guess they might be insults, or curses or maybe something entirely else. He can’t quite describe the feeling he has when he opens his mouth - the closest would probably be a thousand fireflies buzzing in his stomach and spreading their light and warmth, “You’ll bring them back, right?”

Kuroo looks up, startled by the question. As if he were frozen on spot. “Uh… huh?”

“Since you went through all the trouble to get them, I feel like I should come with you. I bet a city kid like you doesn’t even know where to drop these off.” Daichi can’t hide his grin and he can feel Kuroo’s dissatisfaction pierce him. 

“It only took me two weeks to find out where to catch some, okay? You talk big for someone who publicly said he doesn’t know how Tokyo Tower looks like.” The snark could have burned more than this, Daichi thinks. 

“That was during my first week. I should have never mentioned that live.” And it was a terrible first week full of bad life decisions and the harsh reminder how terrible his sense of direction is but Daichi doesn’t speak of that. Never again. 

“Not if you didn’t want me to use it against you.” 

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Daichi says, pressing the jar against his chest, finally having his gaze reciprocated - by a pleasantly surprised Kuroo, a smile sort of crooked but joyful, as if he couldn’t believe his ears _but he really wanted to_. “And on that occasion, you can show me what Tokyo Tower looks like on our way back.”

Daichi would love to say it is the tiny piece of home in his hands that makes him feel so happy but he knows, the reason is another entirely, a reason trying to hide his embarrassed face behind his hands, a reason with a voice like silk opposing his behaviour and actions, a reason with ridiculous hair called Kuroo.

**Author's Note:**

> once i finished this, i looked at my bff deadpan at 6am in the morning and said "you know what? fuck this, and fuck that but fuck writing in particular" and we both agred on this after a night of writing and not sleeping. i am still amazed. we livin' the daichi nightlife style. writing is great.


End file.
